Beneath a Southern Sky - By Deborah Raney Page 0,4

like to keep him for a while.”

Nate laughed and held her at arm’s length, appreciating the way her dimpled smile reached her blue eyes. A strand of wavy blond hair had escaped her braid and, returning her smile, he brushed it from her high forehead. He was so proud of her for giving him this gift of laughter before he went. “Amen,” he said, his heart full.

Together they washed the few breakfast dishes and then he went into the hut for his things.

They walked arm in arm through the village, and beyond to the place where the worn forest trail led to the navigable waters of the Rio Guaviare. Quimico and Tados and their families were already waiting when they got there, chattering excitedly among themselves. Nate loaded his things into the boat, and the two young natives lofted the craft onto their shoulders.

Nate pulled Daria into his arms and kissed her one last time. “Goodbye, sweetheart,” he whispered, aware that the natives were watching and shaking their heads at this bold American display of affection. He released her and went to take his share of the boat’s burden.

They started up the trail. The boat on his shoulders prevented him from turning and keeping Daria in his sight. But he didn’t have to see her to know that her beautiful face was wet with tears and that her tender heart was praying for his safe return even now.

Two

The thin trail of smoke slithered toward the clouds like a cobra charmed by the music of the coming rain. Though it was hard to tell how distant the fire was, it worried Daria. It seemed more than a bonfire. And hours too early for that besides.

If there was trouble in another nearby village, they would come looking for Nate. He wouldn’t be back for several days, and she would rather the neighboring villages not know that she was alone.

She turned back to the flatbread she was making, slapping the coarse dough hard with the heel of her hand, forming a thin disk that would fry crisp in a pan of grease over the coals. It was too late for lunch and too early for supper, but at least keeping busy helped soothe her worries. With Nate gone, she had kept an erratic schedule, eating and sleeping whenever the mood struck her. She hadn’t realized how much stability his presence brought, even to the mundane things of life.

She looked again toward the grey wisp of smoke and noted that it was in the general direction of the village to which Nate had traveled. Perhaps he could see it from where he was and would go to help if it signaled trouble.

She missed him. Oh, how she missed him. The jungle was treacherous and unpredictable, but when Nathan was with her, it was truly a paradise. Once she had grown accustomed to the spiders, snakes, and amphibious creatures that teemed in their corner of Colombia, she had seldom felt afraid. The soft plunk of afternoon raindrops on massive palm leaves and the calls of the wild creatures that inhabited the rain forest had become sounds of security. They were as much the sounds of home for her now as the lowing cattle, distant train whistles, and song of the meadowlark had been on the Kansas prairie where she grew up.

Now, with Nathan away, Daria felt as though a part of her was missing. He had made trips without her before—to hunt with the Timoné men and, recently, to treat the ill in outlying villages. Usually he was gone overnight, two days at most. This time was different, and she wasn’t prepared for the dull ache of loneliness that came over her on this fifth night of his absence.

She placed the circle of dough on a clean stone and brushed the coarse cornmeal from her hands. She climbed to the stoop and ducked inside the doorway to their hut. She took a frying pan from its hook on the wall and a can of grease from the narrow shelf over the window.

Though she had been a farm girl, she had never been a camper, and cooking over an open fire had been a hard-earned skill. She smiled to herself, thinking of the many meals of blackened bread and scorched meat they had endured while she learned, at Nate’s insistence, to cook as the Timoné did. The small hut she and Nate had inherited from the missionary who had served before them was set apart from